


God is Dead (and the devil's growing old)

by DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, notbug (KageKashu)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Eventual Relationships, Flashbacks, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:26:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire/pseuds/DanyellaSkylerSilverfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: Charles has enough on his plate, dealing with Dethklok's usual business. But when a serial killer targets his last surviving sibling, he finds that he can't focus on work. There are skeletons in his closet, and the serial killer seems intent to drag them out.





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

> I only have about 11k of this already written, but it's one of my favorite stories, containing one of my best villains. I'll post up until that point, and hopefully, by the time I get there, I'll have started writing again.

* * *

Twenty Years Ago

_Crimson pools on the parlor floor, and Charlie calmly steps around the blood and the small body laying in it on his way to the phone. He takes a deep breath as he picks up the phone, dialing carefully. Although his hands are shaking, he can handle this. He already handled so much more._

_"Mom, Dad," he says, trying to suppress the nervous flutter that is building in his stomach. "Ah, I need you to come home. Kissy and Allie are... they locked themselves in the basement and... ah, Robbie is..."_

_His voice catches in his throat, and he licks his lips, glances back at the small form lying on the floor, oh so still. Charlie feels his heart rate begin to escalate. He raises his eyes again only to see himself in one of the many mirrors his father likes to keep around the house. His own eyes look just as flat and lifeless as his little brother's. There’s a splatter of blood high on his cheek, just beneath his right eye._

_"Robbie's dead," he finally whispers. "I don't know what to do. Leon would tell me; he... He always seemed to know. But he's gone, and I, ah, I need you to come home and tell me what to do. Please... I need you to come home... I don't... I don't know what to do."_

* * *

Present

The ringing of Offdensen's phone couldn't have come at a better time. As much as Nathan likes Charles, the man can be awfully long winded about some really stupid, boring shit, and Nathan doesn't feel like trying to keep up with what he’s saying today. 

Instead, he would rather watch Charles when he’s preoccupied with something else, such as the phone. Actually, he’s fascinating when he isn't talking (at least, when he isn't talking to _them_ ), but that’s beside the point. So, while Toki and Skwisgaar's umpteenth shoving match of the day attempts to resolve itself, Nathan intends to do just that. 

Charles's voice is quiet, and he’s turned partly away from them, in a manner that suggests that he would prefer privacy at the moment. He doesn't lean far enough away for Nathan to miss the way his face moves, though, nor far enough for Nathan to be unable to hear him clearly. 

"I see. Are you certain? Ah, is there any chance for me to get a hold of the coroner's report?” Charles pauses, listening to the other line, shaking his head when he starts talking again. “No, I just would prefer to have all the information possible. That was, ah, she was the last of my siblings, so..." 

There’s a slight twitch, like Charles wants to move, and he bites his lip as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. Then he’s nodding, though even to Nathan, the movement looks abrupt, frustrated. “Yes. It's very unfortunate, indeed..." A sigh, and he’s shaking his head again, hand slipping a pen out of his pocket to fidget with. “Oh, no, I ah, would prefer to make the arrangements myself. 

“Ah? I see. Well, I'm ah, currently in the middle of a meeting, so, ah, yes, I'll have to call you back. In an hour, yes, that's fine. Thank you. Of course. Goodbye." Stress lines that Nathan barely noticed before the meeting make him look nearly ten years older by the time he hangs up and turns back to the band. Nathan watched those lines appear, and... he doesn’t understand, but he finds himself worrying about it, regardless. 

The others, in spite of the cacophony they were making mere minutes ago, have grown silent. Nathan wonders if they have a sinking feeling in their guts, too. Nathan was pretty sure they would just die, if Offdensen disappears on them again. Literally. Because they can't take care of themselves. Then again, the sinking feeling might be lunch. 

"So, who's was dat?" Skwisgaar asks, face pinched and suspicious. 

"Yeah, who's was dat?" Toki echoes when Charles doesn't immediately answer. He just watches the two guitarists for a moment, as though expecting for them to fall into another rendition of the copycat argument. 

"Just some personal business, boys," he finally says, with a faint, most definitely fake, smile. 

"Who died?" Nathan inserts bluntly. Sure, it’s rude, and yes, he’s aware of the fact, but he needs to know, and he doesn’t think that Charles is planning on telling them. Besides, if Charles is hurt, it isn't because of Nathan's words. It’s because the dead person is dead. 

"My youngest sister," Charles replies, sighing, in time with Murderface asking, “Someone died?” 

"Ooh, ouch, sorry man," Pickles offers, casually sympathetic. 

"Dude, that shucksh. How'd she die?" Murderface asks, with his usual morbid curiosity, and it’s a good question, Nathan thinks. What if it’s some horrible disease? And they’ll all contract it and die, and it’ll be gross. Hamburger time, and not even in a cool way. Dying of illness isn’t _metal_... well. Sort of. Nathan supposes that dying of some horrible disease _is_ metal. Like the plagues. 

Skwisgaar is completely unsympathetic, only bothering to speak up to draw attention to himself. Though it does serve to draw Nathan’s attention back to the conversation. "I don'ts gots no sisters, I's an onlys child." 

"Yeah, me's too. I's sads when my far dies though." Toki’s the most empathic of them, when he isn't too busy being the most psycho. His blue eyes are wide, and he stares at Charles in that sad, puppyish way that he occasionally has. 

Nathan wants to be sympathetic, but he also really wants to know the answer to Murderface's question. He waffles over the dilemma for a long moment, trying to decide which way he’s going to go, and eventually settles on, "Sorry, but, uh, yeah, how'd she die?" 

"She was dismembered," Charles replies, frowning at them. He doesn't seem upset though, not like Toki was when they had all gone to Norway. He just looks a little unhappy. Tense. Stressed. Like he stubbed a toe, or maybe something smaller, because stubbing a toe hurts like hell, and Charles only looks a little... sad, maybe. Disappointed? Nathan isn't sure. "They are reasonably certain that it was a murder." 

It turns out that no one knows what to say to that. The silence is awkward enough that Nathan is willing to be the one to break it. "Do you... uhhh... wanna go make that call?" he asks. "Or would you rather finish this... uh... meeting?" Somehow he doubts that Charles actually wants to be here at the moment, even if he doesn't want to make the phone call, either. 

The manager glances down at the papers in his hand, like he forgot they were there, and begins flipping through them, searching. "No, there's nothing very important here, ah, at the moment. I will, of course, call you back the, ah, instant any of that changes. And, as usual, thank you for your time." And then Charles beats as quick of a retreat as Nathan has ever seen. When Offdensen puts his mind to it, he’s pretty damned fast. 

"Well, he was sure in a hurry, wasn't he?" observes Pickles, picking up a fresh bottle of beer and popping the top off with callused fingertips. "So, who's he supposed to call, eh Nat'n?" 

"Whatever jackoff he was already talking to, that's who. Hey, who wants to race golf carts?" 

* * *


	2. Reminders

Twenty Two Years Ago

_Charlie and Leon sit side by side on a park bench with a group of other adolescents._

_There’s nothing unusual about this day. It’s just like any other day, the summer they start high school. Charlie, the smaller of the twins, is teased as usual, about the tagalong that often follows them to the park. "He must really look up to you, Charlie," one of the girls giggles. "See, he's watching you."_

_The other girls giggle about how cute it is, while Charlie turns to look. It’s no surprise when his eyes met his little brother's mocha dark ones. Like it’s different than usual, in any way. It isn't. Even now, he can read the thoughts going through the younger boy's mind._ Yes, I see you Robbie.

_"I suppose so," he says, tone flat. Leon nudges his side, disapproving. Charlie’s disappointing him again, though he isn't sure how. Pasting a fake smile on his face, he adds, "It's cute in an annoying story of way." Leon nods subtly and smiles, and Charlie’s relieved. Being normal is so hard sometimes, and he relies heavily on Leon to make sure that he does it right._

Keep smiling, Charlie, _he reminds himself._ That's what Leon always says. Just keep smiling. If you’re smiling, they might not notice how wrong you are...

* * *

Present

Alison's throat had been cut, messily.

It could have been the work of an amateur - if an amateur could have reached her - but Charles is rarely so lucky. His only surviving sibling wasn't targeted by chance. Her flesh wasn't flayed from her bones, her tendons torn, bones separated at the joint by someone who didn't know who she was. Somehow the reports read as eerily familiar, and it takes Charles a while to realize why. He’s heard this before, though in less than clinical terms.

Her blood was smeared across the walls like so much paint, a message drawn in it with a thick fingertip. The prints aren't on record - they would know by now if they were.

_do you miss me?_ The message can only be meant for Charles himself. He’s suspicious that even the manner of his little sister's death is part of the message, and he berates himself for thinking it. _don't worry, i'm back_

It’s childish, he notes, which supports the thoughts that he tries to push away. The cadence of the words, the lack of proper punctuation and capitalization, even the sentiment expressed... sinister as well. "Don't worry?" Charles asks himself. There’s only one soul in this world, past and present, that Charles truly misses, and he knows that Leonard would never have done such a thing. Leonard isn't coming back, either, no matter how much Charles might wish it.

It’s at times like this, when Charles is stressed, and concerned about his own lack of humanity, that he really misses his twin. The worst part of having a twin, he knows, is losing them. He feels like an amputee, and he really needs a drink. Twenty years and a handful of days wasn't enough for him to get used to it. And now, he won't even have Alison.

* * *

Twenty Years and One Month Ago

_"C'mon, she likes you," Leon says, nudging Charlie's side. He insists that dating is part of being normal, and he seems to think that he has the perfect candidate to start his twin on. "Don't you like her?"_

_Is he supposed to like her? Amanda is pretty enough, he supposes. If she gets much taller, she’ll be too tall, but as it is, she’s exactly the right height for everything. "I, ah, don't know," Charlie answers, frowning. He doesn’t think he likes her though, in spite of aesthetics. "I'm not sure what that's like." His hands are pinned together between his knees, and he hunches forward over them, uncomfortable with the topic._

_"Well, wouldn't you like to kiss her or something?" Leon sounds like he likes the idea of doing just that, but Charlie finds her rather dull, appearances aside. Going by his leer, Leon probably wants to do far more than kissing._

_"Not really. If you want to, go ahead." Leon’s the sort to like dolls. Something he can play with until boredom strikes. Brainless and predictable, Amanda is, if she’s lucky, going to make a fine trophy wife one day. Doll-like is a good way to describe her._

_Leon gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye. He does that sometimes, when his predictions on Charlie’s tastes go sideways, which they do fairly often. Leon is even worse than Charlie at remembering that they are two different people, instead of one in two bodies. "Why don't you like her? She's hot, she's nice, she's..."_

_"Dull as a brick," Charlie interjects. Because really, that's what it all boils down to, in his opinion. She isn't_ interesting.

_"You don't have to talk to her," Leon says, rolling his eyes. As if communication and dating have anything in common. "Are you a late bloomer Charlie?"_

_"Maybe I'm asexual," he replies dryly, and somewhat ironically. He knows that he isn't, not really; he’s pretty sure he doesn't know the right word for what he is. It isn't asexual, and he isn't sure if bisexual is right either. That implies that he cares about the packaging. So far, he’s found that he liked exactly two boys and one girl, at a distance - and none of them were Amanda, who is everything Leon says, and oh so very boring._

_He tenses when Kissy and Allie come tearing into the living room with girlish shrieks of glee. They skid to a stop, wide eyed but trying to muffle their giggles. Charlie frowns when Robbie comes in through the other door. The younger boy looks pensive, as perfectly innocent as ever._

Great, _he thinks,_ now it's family time.

_One might think he hates his family, but... that isn’t it, not really. The truth is, he would do anything for them._ Anything _. There are few enough people that he loves in this world, and most of them happen to be in the room at the moment. That doesn’t mean he particularly likes them, however. Especially doe-eyed little Robbie, who practically idolizes him._

_His little brother makes his skin crawl._

_"Whatcha talkin' about?" asks Kissy, grinning a little, and flopping onto the carpet in front of them. She immediately begins popping the minty bubblegum she’s constantly chewed since she discovered boys, even though there’s no point in it this late at night._

_"Girls," Leon replies, loftily. He pats Charlie’s shoulder roughly, much to his twin’s bemusement. "I'm trying hard to be a good brother and find Charlie a girlfriend. He thinks they're all boring, though."_

_"I don't know what you think he'd do with a girl anyway," she sniffs, standing back up. She scratches her belly, and glances over at Robbie, wary and thoughtful now that whatever had her worked up moments before is out of mind. Then she reaches out and takes Allie by the hand, and gives the younger girl a tug. "Anyway, Allie, it's our bedtime." The two girls, ages thirteen and ten, head up the way Robbie had come from, hand in hand. Technically, Robbie should be going to bed as well._

_Apparently, Robbie doesn’t think so, as he sits down in almost the same place as Kissy just vacated. From there, he casts a soulful gaze up at Charlie. "I'm more interesting than some stupid girl, though, aren't I?" the younger boy asks. He sounds so guileless, and Charlie never can trust it. "Wouldn't you rather hang out with me?"_

_"Not particularly," Charlie says with mild distaste. It isn’t Robbie’s age, nor a lack of intelligence. He just isn’t the kind of person Charlie wants to spend time with. Honestly, he'd prefer to just be with Leon, but his twin is growing more and more interested in the so-called fairer sex, and the fairer they are, the duller they seem - a definite downside to dating. However... If he wants to spend time with his twin, there’s an easy solution. "If I don't have to talk to her, sure, ah, we could double date, or something."_

_Leon’s way too happy with that compromise, whereas Robbie scowls blackly. He quickly schools his expression when he sees that Charlie is looking._

_Two days later, Amanda hates Charlie - not without reason, given that he returns her regard - Leon's girlfriend dumped him, and their father's prize fuchsias were lit on fire. Two weeks later, Leon is dead._

_Not long after that, so is Robbie._


	3. Unwanted Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for that obnoxious (and unrealistic) accent of Skwisgaar's and the fact that I tried to write it out. x'D

* * *

Present

There’s no way Alison is getting an open casket funeral, not even at the Mother Superior's behest (not that the elderly woman will suggest such a thing; after all, she's the one who found Alison). She had been too damaged. Charles has her cremated, and they have a quiet funeral at her convent, before he brings her urn home to sit for a while next to that of her older brother. There she will remain until Charles has time to grieve.

Perhaps it’s morbid, that he still has Leonard's urn when he doesn't have Kristen's, or those of their parents - Robert, the usual exception to the family rule, was buried in a small cemetery near their old family home. Charles is pretty sure that he doesn't care about the morbidity - he lives in Mordhaus, after all. It’s probably more concerning that he still talks to Leonard when he’s stressed enough.

Today, however, he needs a different kind of stress relief, and so he changes into something appropriate for the garage. There, his Bentley (1926, just like the one in one of his favorite books) will be waiting for him.

Just before leaving, he runs his fingers through the tangle of rosaries and crosses that decorate his twin's urn, thinking that he should put a few on Alison's as well. Yet, the garage awaits, and spending time next to the urns makes him think too much. And that isn't healthy. Without the downtime, his functionality will be impaired, and he can’t have that.

As he soon discovers, not only is his Bentley waiting in the garage for him, so is Skwisgaar. Charles wonders if the others put him up to it. Then again, if Skwisgaar is already down here, if he did, indeed, somehow deduce that Charles would be coming down here after dealing with the trauma of seeing his youngest sister's dismembered body and attending her funeral, he can only assume that the others will show up eventually.

With a glance, he indicates that he isn’t feeling loquacious, and walks over to the workbench, intending to remind himself of what he was doing the last time he was in here (in the garage, the band accepts that he’s on his off time, and, oddly enough, afford him a great deal more respect while they are here). The tall blond guitarist stands, fidgeting for several minutes, before opening his mouth. "How, you's is, where's beinks you's... Funerals for yours sister, how went?"

Charles doesn't think too deeply on that. It’s strange enough to see one of the boys showing concern, especially since, as he overheard once, according to Pickles (arguably the most sane of the lot), "Caring makes you gay." He also doesn't want to think about the funeral (or anything, really, related to his family) - that’s why he’s in the garage. So he just grimaces and shrugs, and lets that be his answer.

"Ams you went, Nat'n saids that's what you's hads to dos?" Skwisgaar grimaces too, frustrated at his worse than usual grasp of English. "We ams not suppose to beink tellinks you, but... little Tokis ams, ah, worrieds about you's?"

"Ah," he replies, more of a grunt than a word. Toki is, it seems, once again the feelings scapegoat. While Charles can't just wave off their concern, he really doesn't want to talk about it. Honestly, when it comes to talking about feelings, Charles is just as bad, if not worse, than the boys, and that's saying something. He sighs gustily, as part of his last conversation with Alison comes to mind.

_"Be careful, Charlie,"_ she had whispered, her voice a bare echo of what it had once been. _"When angels and demons collide, innocents perish. Please, be careful."_

He’s grateful for the warning, but irritated that she had obviously known things he still doesn't - he hates not having all the information available. And now, Alison is dead, and there’s little he can do for her. He lets out another sigh and gives up on the idea of working on the car. He just doesn't have the presence of mind for it. He’ll probably injure himself - again - if he tries. Perhaps a book?

He’s scanning the small shelf above the bench when Skwisgaar speaks again. "Why do's you... not lettinks us cominks with? You's makes us goink with Tokis when his fader dies, why do's you goes alone?" A sensible enough of a question. Sometimes Charles wonders at the boys. They’re usually dumber than bricks, then, on occasion, they surprise him with a burst of insight.

Consideringly, he places his index finger on the spine of _A Study in Scarlet_ \- in its place next to Neil Gaiman's _A Study in Emerald_ , which are two of the next books he was thinking about reading. He’s read the former book once before, which makes a better choice, as distracted as he is. In response to Skwisgaar's question, he shrugs stiffly, pulling down the book. It should be a quick, easy read. He’ll pick up the other later, when he’s feeling better.

It’s amazing how well the boys listen to him when he isn't talking... "You's shoulds know. I's knows whats I am thinkinks. Why ams you not knowinks what you ams thinkinks?" Skwisgaar scowls at him.

If Skwisgaar’s planning to continue to be so insightful, it’s going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, if you want to chat/gush over things with me, come see me on my [discord!](https://discord.gg/ucQGFB6) It's mostly Naruto fandom, and MadaTobi specifically, but the more the merrier!


End file.
